Gates of Paradise

by Beryl Kingston

  It was arranged that she should join the household early next morning so as to be in time to cook breakfast. By midday, news of her return was all round the village, because her mother had met her when she was buying meat at the butcher’s and old Mrs Taylor had seen her when she came down to the brew house for yeast. By the time the regulars gathered in The Fox that evening, even her follower knew about it, and it was generally agreed to be ‘a danged good thing’.

  I shall see her Sunday, Johnnie thought, and we can walk out again. The weather’s fine an’ she’s back an’ everybody walks out after Sunday service. Everybody, but not Betsy. Apparently she had to stay in the house and cook dinner while her mistress attended church. It was a miserable disappointment to him and an annoyance to her father.

  ‘I don’t see why she won’t let the girl come to church,’ he complained. ‘Tha’s not Christian, keepin’ her at home. She could cook the meal afterwards same as you do.’

  ‘Not to fret,’ Mrs Haynes said. ‘We shall see her on her afternoon off, an’ I shall make a point of meetin’ her when she’s out a-marketing, which she will be most days so she tells me. The great thing is she’s in the village an’ she’ll have good food to put in her belly an’ we knows where she is.’

  But that didn’t help Johnnie Boniface. After being parted for so long and cast into such misery, his need to see her again was more urgent than it had ever been. He took to drifting out of the grounds at odd times of the day and wandering about the village in the hope of meeting her, even though he knew he was neglecting his work and that Mr Hosier didn’t approve. And eventually he discovered that she walked down the road to the George and Dragon as soon as she got up in the morning, to buy the small beer for Miss Pearce’s breakfast. It was all the knowledge he needed. The next morning he was in the jug and bottle before she was and ready to open the door for her as soon as she appeared.

  He was so happy to see her again he was smiling like an idiot. He wanted to dance and jump in the air, to sing and shout, to pull her into his arms and kiss her. But with so many people watching them he managed to be circumspect. ‘Welcome back,’ he said.

  The smile she gave him seemed shy, as if they were being introduced to one another, and although she said good morning in a neighbourly way, there was a distance about her that was even more disquieting than her smile.

  ‘I heard you were back,’ he said, ‘workin’ for ol’ Miss Pearce.’

  She was holding up her jug for the small beer, but she turned to agree with him and smile at him again. ‘Yes.’

  The full jug was helpfully heavy. ‘You got a load on there,’ he said. ‘I’ll carry it for ’ee.’

  She settled the jug on her hip. ‘Best not,’ she said. ‘Miss Pearce don’t like followers. She told me most partic’lar.’

  ‘I shan’t be followin’,’ he said, trying to joke her into a better humour. ‘I’ll be walkin’ alongside of ’ee.’

  ‘You knows what I means, Johnnie. It aren’t a bit a’ good you sayin.’

  ‘I tell ’ee what,’ he said, as she walked out of the inn. ‘Why don’t you come to The Fox of a mornin’? You could buy her small beer there as well as anywhere an’ we could meet an’ maybe have a drink together. I goes down about noon, reg’lar as clockwork, for to get Mr Hosier his afternoon ale. Partic’ly if ’tis warmish. That wouldn’t be followin’ now would it?’ It was part question and part hopeful plea.

  She pondered before she set off along the road. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we’ll see.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ he hoped.

  And tomorrow it was. But it wasn’t a success. She was so formal with him, aware that people were watching them, sitting as far away from him as the settle would allow, careful not to allow any touch of any kind. And as his senses were in a state of aching alert, he was uncomfortable and ill at ease. When they’d finished their beer, he walked back to the house with her, as far as he dared, and carried her jug and offered his arm to her – and tried not to let her see how crushed he was when she didn’t take it. But as he strode back to The Fox to buy Mr Hosier’s ale, he felt cast down and dispirited. Winning her back was going to be a long slow job.

  From then on, he made sure he was in The Fox at noon every day, whether or not she was likely to be there. Sometimes she arrived with her jug and stayed with him for a few minutes and sometimes she didn’t. After a week he asked her whether they might meet on her afternoon off, but she told him she was pledged to spend it with her mother, ‘least for the time bein’, on account of Miss Pearce’ll be watchin’.’ He tried to persuade himself that she was being sensible, and told himself that time was a great healer, that love conquers all, that faint heart never won fair lady. But country saws were no comfort to him and there were days when his heart felt faint as a shadow. And to make everything worse, he was being plagued by the local militiamen to join the Volunteers.

  There were thirteen in the company already, mostly young men and boys, and mostly farm labourers, and they were putting pressure on everyone likely. ‘You got a spade ’aven’t you Johnnie?’ they said. ‘Spade, shovel, saw, strong pair a’ hands. Tha’s all you need. You can dig trenches an’ fell trees, can’t you? You must have a fellin’ axe, workin’ for ol’ man Hayley. Very well, then.’

  At first Johnnie had mocked that a spade wouldn’t be much use against a soldier with a musket but they soon dealt with an excuse as feeble as that.

  ‘We aren’t s’pposed to be fightin’ men,’ they said. ‘Oh, no. We aren’t required for to fight the beggars. What we’re a-goin’ to do is harass ’em, so’s they can’t jest go a-marchin’ across the country wherever they thinks fit, on account of we’ll have blocked the roads and the bridges and dug up trenches to stop their hosses. We got all sorts a’ tricks up our sleeves. You join us, you’ll see.’

  ‘I got too much work in the garden,’ he told them. It was an excuse and a very transparent one and they all knew it. What he really wanted was to stay where he was and look after Betsy. That was the important thing. He had to make sure she got away to a safe place. He wasn’t sure where, although he’d been thinking about it ever since she came back to Felpham. Slindon Woods probably. They’d hardly want to fight their way through that. If he was any judge of what was likely, they’d head off for Chichester and the road to London.

  ‘If them Frenchies come, you won’t have a garden,’ they warned. ‘You wait till the next high tide. Be a different story then.’

  It was a different story for everyone in the village, for this time it really did look as though the invasion fleet was coming. The barracks north of Chichester were built and occupied and Chichester was loud with redcoats; the farmers had made plans to move out all their livestock; the millers had prepared carts to carry the corn into hiding; the wagons to evacuate the women and children were cleaned and ready, and all the draught horses in the village had been commandeered to pull one vehicle or another. Every high tide brought a flurry of anxious activity and when the immediate danger had passed, the villagers were bad-tempered with the worry and fatigue of yet another alert.

  ‘Oi can’t be doin’ with all this taradiddle,’ Reuben complained. ‘Evasion, evasion, tha’s all we ever hear. Oi tell ’ee straight, tha’s gettin’ roight on my wick. If they’re a-comin’, let ’em come says Oi. We had enough a’ talk.’

  It was a warm spring evening and the doors and windows of the inn were open to allow the regulars to enjoy the air. In ordinary times they would have been talking about the growing harvest and predicting a good one.

  ‘Quite right, Reuben,’ Mr Cosens said. ‘I’ve had my sacks on an’ off the wagons these last weeks more times than I’ve had hot dinners. It’s really getting me down.’

  ‘We’re all down,’ Mrs Grinder sympathised. ‘What we needs is somethin’ to gee us up a bit.’

  And as if in answer to her prayer there was a sudden confused noise in the street outside, a thud and crunch of hooves, a man’s voice shouting orders, much clinking and rattling, a
nd the steaming rump of a huge bay horse appeared in front of the windows, followed by another and another. Within seconds the inn was empty as the regulars ran out of all three doors, tankards in hand, agog to see what was going on.

  Their quiet village street was full of cavalry and more were arriving as they watched. Ten, twenty, and still they came, filling the space before the inn with noise and movement and pulsing colour and the strong smell of horses. They looked like giants, sitting so high on their red and blue saddles with their long blue-clad legs commandingly astride, and their uniforms were a wonder to behold, their scarlet jackets dazzling against the grey browns of the flint walls behind them, their great tricorne hats richly plumed and heavily black against the unassuming thatch. And what accoutrements they had. Sabres and sabretaches swung from their waists, formidably to hand, and their jackets were sashed and braided and beribboned as if they had ridden straight from the king’s court at St James’s Palace.

  Their officer was the most splendid of them all and had the most impressive manner. ‘Mr Grinder!’ he called. And when that gentlemen stepped forward to acknowledge his name, ‘You have stabling for nine horses, I believe, sir. Very well. You are prepared to take nine troopers are you not? Cock! Smithson! Scolfield!’

  The military had arrived.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The offices of the Sussex Advertiser, Chichester. Friday April 23rd 1852

  My very dearest Annie,

  This to you in some haste for I have much work to do and a mere five minutes before I have to catch the postman. This office is a treasure house, where I believe I have found the material evidence I have been seeking all week, not hearsay or gossip this time but written records. There are two reporters here who have offered to help me – uncle and nephew and both knowledgeable – and I have already seen a list of the jurymen who served at Blake’s trial and – which is even better – discovered the names of the villagers who gave evidence on his behalf, and there are more papers to come. By the end of the day I feel sure I shall have reached the truth about this trial and possibly solved my mystery into the bargain.

  I intend to travel home tomorrow on the morning coach and shall be with you by evening, when I will tell you everything I have discovered. No time for more now, the postman is walking through the door.

  Your most loving husband, AG

  Summer 1803

  Life in Felpham was revolutionised by the arrival of the 1st Royal Dragoons. Within twenty-four hours the troopers had taken over the village, swaggering about in their red jackets, flirting with every female in sight, or galloping off to some manoeuvre or other, in a thunder of well-shod hooves and a clatter of accoutrements.

  On their third day in residence they gathered on the beach at low tide and staged a full cavalry charge. Half the village went down to the beach to watch and very exciting it was, for a trooper’s horse is an extraordinary and mettlesome animal, capable of breathtaking speed, able to stop dead at full gallop, and to wheel or fall to its knees on command. Their exploits made the village draught horses look like mules and the panache of their riders took the village maidens by storm. ‘Fancy ridin’ a hoss loike that,’ they said to one another. ‘Moi stars! Aren’t that a soight for sore oiyes.’

  Even Mrs Haynes was impressed. ‘I wouldn’t like to be on a battlefield on the receiving end of that lot,’ she said to her daughter.

  And Betsy, who should by rights have been busy in the village doing Miss Pearce’s shopping, looked at Johnnie, who had contrived to stroll down to The Fox at just the right minute to meet her and was now standing beside her on the sand, and said they frightened her half to death. Which was true, for in her present too-tender state, the arrival of so many eligible and attentive young men made her feel vulnerable, as if she was about to be besieged. She was being very careful not to give Miss Pearce any cause to rebuke her, had been so guarded with Johnnie and so distant to every other young man, that it alarmed her that these gaudy newcomers could spoil it all with their swagger and the way they would keep talking to everybody. Well, let ’em try, she thought, I shall be more than equal to them.

  Within a week she was the only girl in the village who hadn’t acquired a military admirer. Plenty had offered, as she’d feared – for even in her present excessively sober mood she was much too pretty to be ignored – but her answer was always the same.

  ‘I got my livin’ to earn,’ she told them, when they stopped her in the street and tried to pass the time of day. ‘’Tis all very well for the likes a’ you. You may talk to anyone you please, you got a job so long as you wants it, an’ come the winter you’ll be off an’ away again, but if I was to be seen so much as sayin’ “good morning” to a young man, I should be out on my ear wi’ no job an’ no earnin’s. My missus is most partic’lar. We aren’t allowed to have followers an’ tha’s all there is to that. So good morning to ’ee an I’ll trouble you not to stop me no more.’

  Her severity rapidly made her one of the most attractive girls in the village. ‘I been talking to the Ice Maiden,’ hopefuls would report. ‘Dashed pretty gel.’ And their older companions would mock them, ‘You been trying more like. Bet you never got no answer. I’d try elsewhere if I was you, you won’t get no joy there.’

  There was plenty of joy elsewhere. Betsy’s old companions at Turret House strolled about the village sporting cherry red ribbons in their caps and making eyes at every soldier they passed and it wasn’t long before they had two admirers apiece. Mrs Beke was not pleased.

  ‘There is nothing to be gained by spending time with a soldier,’ she warned them. ‘Soldiers are all the same, here today and gone tomorrow, with no more responsibility than a gadfly. And when they go they leave you with a reputation and ruined into the bargain, as like as not. You would be well to steer clear of them. You don’t want to end up like Betsy Haynes.’

  The two maids exchanged looks and couldn’t wait to report what they’d been told to Betsy herself. Which they did the very next morning when they were out in Limmer Lane, taking the air for a few minutes in the hope that their beaux would come along and meet them.

  ‘She says you got a reputation,’ Nan said. ‘What d’you think a’ that?’ She was feeling quite pleased with herself to be scoring such an easy victory but then Betsy turned to glare at her with eyes as fierce as an owl’s and she was alarmed and hastened to change tack. ‘Tha’s not what we says, mind. ’Tis what ol’ Ma Beke says. We jest thought you ought to know.’

  Betsy drew herself up to her full height. Wasn’t this just exactly what she’d been afraid of? Wasn’t this why she’d been so careful not to talk to anyone? Wasn’t this why she’d even kept poor Johnnie at arm’s length? And hadn’t she been right? ‘Well you can jest go straight back to your Mrs Beke,’ she said, ‘an’ tell her I got no followers of any description. Not a single blamed one, nor likely to have. I don’t talk to soldiers an’ I don’t talk to any a’ the young men in the village neither. I keeps mesself to mesself, always, an’ if I got a reputation that’s what ’tis for.’

  ‘But you talks to Johnnie Boniface, surely,’ Susie said and it was only just a question.

  ‘No,’ Betsy said firmly. ‘I partic’ly don’t talk to Johnnie Boniface. An’ I aren’t walkin’ out with him neither, to save you askin’. Tha’s all over an’ done with, thanks to her cruelty t’wards me. You tell her that. If you walk out you gets called names, like slut an’ trollop an’ I don’t know what-all, an’ nobody’s a-goin’ to call me names like that ever again. Now you’ll excuse me. I got work to do if you haven’t.’ And she left them, walking with great dignity and her head held high.

  ‘Shall you tell her?’ Nan asked her friend.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ol’ Ma Beke.’

  ‘No fear,’ Nan said. ‘She’s tetchy enough without that. I shall leave well alone, that’s what I’ll do. Oh, look, there’s my Frederick a-comin’. Coo-ee Frederick!’

  * * *

  There was considerable tetchines
s at Turret House that summer. Demoralised by all the dashing young men who were now overrunning their village, the stable lad and Bob the boot boy had joined the pioneers by way of boosting their morale. It didn’t do much for them because nobody took any notice except the butler who was annoyed to be told that they had to spend two nights a week away from the house, learning how to block roads and bridges in Slindon Woods.

  ‘And what good that will do I cannot imagine,’ he said to Mrs Beke, ‘for I never saw a more gormless pair in all my life. Pioneers indeed!’

  Mr Hayley took all these difficulties personally. ‘I see no reason why the proper running of my household should have to be disrupted,’ he complained to Mrs Beke, ‘just because Napoleon Bonaparte is threatening to invade, which he won’t do, you mark my words, Lord Nelson will see to that, nor why we should be overrun by the military. ’Tis insupportable, indeed it is. And while we’re on the subject, why do you send that silly clumsy creature with my coffee night after night? Why doesn’t young Betsy bring it?’

  Mrs Beke explained, briefly and mildly, that young Betsy had taken a position with Miss Pearce.

  That didn’t please her master at all. ‘’Tis all so unnecessary,’ he said. ‘Constant change is bad for the constitution – as is well known and understood – in exactly the same way as an excess of scarlet is harmful to the eyes. If this goes on much longer, we shall all be irreparably damaged.’

  ‘Your prints have come,’ Mrs Beke told him, endeavouring to change the subject, that being one change she felt he could handle. ‘Mrs Blake brought them up half an hour ago.’

  He was still tetchy, even about that. ‘Then pray have ’em sent to me,’ he said. ‘Why do you delay? You know how I wish to see them. They should be on my table already.’

  Fortunately he was very pleased by all three prints and ten minutes later rang for Mrs Beke again to tell her that he thought he might stroll down to Mr Blake’s cottage to tell him how much his work was appreciated. ‘We have been distant long enough, in all conscience,’ he said. ‘With the threat of war daily in our ears and the entire village overwhelmed by the military, I feel it is time we artists made peace.’